Page 47 of What She Didn't Know (What She 1)

He chortled. “I sincerely doubt it’s me you came to see.” He motioned for me to follow him toward his office. “Close the door,” he said, after I followed him in. I did so, and then sat down across from him.

“Something wrong?” I asked.

“Yes and no,” he said on a heave of breath.

“What is it?” I leaned forward and rested my elbows on my knees.

“It’s Lynn,” he said hesitantly.

“Is she all right?”

He nodded. “She’s fine. One of her friends is here today.”

I smiled. “Jamie’s here?” I suddenly wanted to jump up and go find her. She never failed to make me laugh with her grease-smeared face and the dirt under her fingernails.

“No, not Jamie,” Dad said.

I jerked my head up. “Not Jamie? Then who?”

“You know she has more than one friend?” Dad’s glasses fell down his nose a little and he looked at me over the rim.

I knew she had more than one, but the only one I’d ever met was Jamie. “Who’s here today?” I asked.

He shook his head. “I’m worried that you’re getting too attached to this girl, son,” he said.

It was true. I was. I knew I was. I was completely in love with her, or as in love as an eighteen-year-old could be. “Dad, who’s here today?”

“Son,” he said, “you do know there’s a probability that Lynn will never get to have a normal life.”

“Define normal, Dad.”

“It’s more than just a setting on the dryer, son,” he said, his voice suddenly harsh and unyielding. “Normal is the difference between happiness and constant stress. Normal is being with one person, marrying that person, and having a family with that person. Normal is sharing special moments for a lifetime. Normal is never having to worry about which of her friends will show up.”

“I like her friends, Dad.” I knew it was fucked-up when I said it, but it was true nonetheless.

“Forbidding you from seeing her would be like telling you not to breathe air,” he muttered, shoving his glasses up his nose. “I told your mother it was a bad idea to ever let you meet her. But she wanted Lynn to have some normal experiences. She wanted Lynn to have friends outside her own little circle. When she brought it up to me, the idea of letting you meet her, I didn’t have a big problem with it, but then I saw you two together, and I saw the spark. I saw you fall in love with her, and I saw her fall in love with you too. As a parent, that’s what we want for our children. But we want it to be a normal relationship, son, not something you have to work quite so hard to make work.” He dropped his pen onto the desk with a clatter. “Now do what you think is right.”

I got up, feeling a little sheepish as I asked, “Do you know where she is?”

“Who?” Dad asked, already looking down at his work.

“Whoever.”

Dad blew out a breath. “See, son, that’s just it. You don’t even know which of her friends is here today. It’ll always be like that. Always. You will never know which of them is going to show up.” He flipped the page on the paper he was looking down at. “She’s with your mother in the workroom.”

“Thanks, Dad.” I got up and left the room, because while Dad had gotten to say his piece, it hadn’t given me any peace at all.

I walked down the hallway to the workroom, and stopped in the doorway. A group of children were sitting on a rug in front of someone whose back was to me. She read them a story, but it was more than reading. She acted out all the parts. She made funny voices and she giggled. The children laughed so hard that they clutched their stomachs and rolled on the floor. She didn’t stop. She read to them for about an hour and I watched from behind her the whole time.

When the hour was up, someone came to get the children and took them away. She sat there on the floor with her legs crossed, the book lying open in the V between her knees. She continued to turn the pages, laughing as she read it to herself.

“You can come in, you know,” she said. She didn’t look up from what she was doing. I looked around to be sure she was talking to me. “I don’t bite,” she said.

I stepped into the room. No one else was there, not even Mom.

“You must be him,” she said. She finally looked up. Her eyes dragged from the bottoms of my shoes to the hair on the top of my head, but not in a lustful way. It was in an I’ll-figure-you-out way.

Her hair was piled on top of her head. Dark makeup was smudged around her eyes, probably because she had just been laughing so hard she was crying. She wore black clothes and combat boots, and her jeans were ripped over one knee and the opposite thigh.

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